


I Think I Wanna Marry You

by Los_Gwilwileth



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Iron Man (Movies), Iron Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Awkward Kissing, Awkward Romance, F/M, Humor, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Marriage Proposal, PDA-Public Displays of Awkward, Secret Identity, Sexuality Crisis, Strangers to Partners
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-30
Updated: 2015-11-12
Packaged: 2018-04-28 23:40:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5109731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Los_Gwilwileth/pseuds/Los_Gwilwileth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"And that is why I plan to marry you." Tony announces from atop his impromptu podium, which may or may not be an overturned milk crate. He reaches out to his left and cups Pepper's face, pulling her into a kiss. </p><p>The lips on his are soft and plump, brushing his own for an endless moment then pulling away abruptly. Tony's eyes fly open as he stumble-trips awkwardly off the crate, because the blond-haired man he just kissed is <i>definitely not Pepper</i>.</p><p>The paparazzi are staring at him, and Tony's brain takes a few moments to absorb the details of what just happened. What was he going to do? Oh, yeah, he was going to marry Pepper.</p><p> </p><p>  <i>Or not.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Our First Kiss Wasn't Supposed To Go Like This

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to this wonderful, whacky not-quite AU, in which Tony Stark accidentally proposes to Steve Rogers in Times Square. 
> 
> Not much Pepperony on this pizza, so if you no like, you no eat, OK? If you want happy, pure Pepperony, go look somewhere else.
> 
> Also this will be a fluffy romance, not an explicit one, so look somewhere else if you like it hardcore.
> 
> I own nothing, Marvel belongs to the respective people etc.

"And that is why I plan to marry you." Tony announces from atop his impromptu podium, which may or may not be an overturned milk crate. He reaches out to his left and cups Pepper's face, pulling her into a kiss. 

The lips on his are soft and plump, brushing his own for an endless moment then pulling away abruptly. Tony's eyes fly open as he stumble-trips awkwardly off the crate, because the blond-haired man he just kissed is _definitely not Pepper_.

The paparazzi are staring at him, and Tony's brain takes a few moments to absorb the details of what just happened. What was he going to do? Oh, yeah, he was going to marry Pepper.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tony stumbled through the doors of his penthouse, head still spinning. He sat down on the couch and told JARVIS to turn the TV to one of the news channels. To absolutely no one's surprise, the news was filled with bold headlines like ' **IS AMERICA'S FAVOURITE BILLIONAIRE HOMOSEXUAL? TONY STARK PROPOSES GAY MARRIAGE** ' and ' **INFIDELITY SCANDAL! WHY TONY STARK DITCHED THE PAPERWORK AND WENT FOR A PAINTBRUSH** '

He wouldn't be surprised if they made some mentions of his superhero identity, like ' **IRON MAN BECOMES RAINBOW MAN** '. He considers giving one of the earlier suits he doesn't use that often a paint job, but making Rhodey fly around with a rainbow flag attached to his shoulder gun would be much more amusing.

He watches the news for a few more minutes, learning several things, including;

A. The man he kissed in Times Square was named Steve Rogers and built like a fucking tank. Steve was an artist by trade, and when asked to comment on the situation, he told the press 'I don't think I'll do any romance novel covers for a while.'

B. Pepper was standing on his _right_ during his embarrassing mini-speech about 'how much I love my girlfriend', not his left. She was also probably storming towards his apartment right now to do damage control.

C. The Westboro Baptist Church seemed to approve more of him making weapons than proposing to a man, so he didn't hold much hope for that section of society receiving any _funds_ in the coming years.

D. He really, really wanted to kiss Steve Rogers again. 

Wait.

_Where did that come from?_

Let it be known to the entire world that Anthony Edward Stark is straighter than the wooden rulers that nuns smack children's knuckles with. He has an artist's eye for a nice rack, and a fine (female) ass doesn't go unappreciated by him either. All of his _sexual experience_ has been with people of a decidedly female gender.

No.

He _did not want_ to kiss Steve Rogers again.

Women = Yes.  
Men = No.

Ew.

Boy cooties. 

_Man cooties._

He will never, ever kiss a man again. Especially not Steve Rogers.

_(Keep telling yourself that, Tony.)_

JARVIS, as if sensing his distress, began playing Alice Cooper's [_Poison_](https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=Qq4j1LtCdww).

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"You should at least contact him."

"Nope." He tells Pepper, popping the 'p'. She gives him the Patented Death Glare No. Five, so he sighs and relents.

"Fine. I'll send him a fruit basket."

Pepper shakes her head and does her little 'I'm getting a Tony Stark-induced migraine' skit. "You kissed him in the middle of Times Square, and then ran. To be Australian, you have done a 'pash and dash'. I don't care that he's a man and that you promised to marry me, you need to make amends."

"But my image is already a smoking heap of garbage." He whines. "Why does it matter if I look like an asshole? We can just give him a few thousand, delivered with the subtly huge and looming threat that he should keep his lips shut tighter than Mother Teresa's fanny about this whole affair. There. Done. Sorted. Can I please escape from this industrialist hell now and go back to my workshop?"

"Your image is only slightly warm but very expensive garbage. We will not give him money and threats, that is bribery, blackmail and extortion. Do not speak of Mother Teresa's 'fanny', and do not compare it to anyone's mouth to it, no matter the context. And finally, no, you may not leave my office until this issue is sorted out."

"Can I release a statement? Like, I'm so sorry I kissed you, I really love my girlfriend and will remain faithful to her, here's a coupon for a year of free omelettes from Denny's?"

"No, you may not. A statement will be part of the apology, not all of it. You and Steve will meet face to face and you will apologise for kissing him and any damage done to his reputation." Pepper rolled her eyes. "I'll take care of this for you, since I love you so. Now go down to your workshop, you do not need to see this. I swear, I'm better at hushing up _incidents_ than S.H.I.E.L.D."

Tony high-tailed it out of her office, because even if he did love Pepper, some things were best left unheard if one wished no damage to their ego.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tony, still in _9am-is-not-an-acceptable-starting-time-for-dealing-with-people_ mode, ran smack into a wall as he hurried across the consulting parlour (Don't ask, Pepper named it.) on his way to get coffee. He immediately rebounds off said wall and is about to let loose a torrent of curses blue enough to make a frost giant jealous when he looks at the wall and finds it to be the chest of one Steve Rogers, who is looking at him in much the same way that a small dog does when its owner refuses to play fetch.

"I'm so, so sorry." Steve says, backing away like Tony might nuke his peasant ass for being in his way.

"N't w'rry." He replies, which is actually quite good considering that the only thoughts running through his mind are 'I need another three ~~hundred~~ hours of sleep' and _your chest makes a really good cushion._

"I'm so, so, _so_ sorry for the incident yesterday. I really hope that you forgive me for that incident, and I wish the best of luck to both you and your partner."

Steve is a morning person? Great. Tony, the Almighty Caffiend, has kissed his one and only hate. If his luck was any better, he'd turn into a frog at midnight and require a kiss from his princess to turn him back into his usual, less green, less slimy human form.

"Why're y' 'ere?"

"Uh, Ms. Potts commissioned me to paint a work for your private quarters in Stark Tower. I'm here today to see where you want it put, what colours might work, what theme or picture you want- things like that."

Steve can decipher his pre-coffee mumbling? He knows only one other person who can do that (Pepper), and decides that the universe must have decided to bless him with as much embarrassment as possible. Oh well, he might as well try to make an effort and try to sound human. Good practice for fitting in with mortals.

"L'me get coffee 'n a bagel, 'en we can talk."

"I'm really sorry, Mr. Stark, but I have another client consultation at 9.30 and we have quite a few things to do. It's, ah," Steve paused to look at his watch, "9.10 right now, and I don't want waste time that you've already paid for. Here, take these, if you want."

Steve holds out a brown paper bag and a travel cup, likely produced from the large satchel slung over his shoulder. Tony's about to refuse, but the knowledge that Pepper is going to grill him later on about what happened makes him gingerly accept the items. He opens the travel mug and takes a swig, having decided only seconds before that pinching his nose while he does so would not be considered a polite action.

The coffee is rich and strong and so hot that it almost scalds his tongue, but black enough that Tony swears that if you looked closely you could see a dark streak traveling down his throat and settling in his stomach if he took off his shirt. After that bracing swig of caffeine, he opens the lunch bag and extracts one of the three items in there. 

Said item turns out to be a croissant filled with some sort of deli meat, cheese, beetroot _(Who the fuck eats beetroot?)_ and enough salad to send a rabbit into a coma. Even though he can already feel his internal organs disintegrating with his proximity to edible vegetation, he gamely takes a bite and quashes his revulsion at the taste of raw tomato. It's actually not too bad, and he takes another huge bite before motioning to Steve to come with him to his rarely-frequented private bedroom.

"Ltth ug 'p." He says, and to his credit, Steve follows without hesitation, though he looks both puzzled and carefully disgusted at Tony's speaking-with-his-mouth-full habit. They take the lift up together, and soon arrive at his own floor with a minimum of awkward (Tony basically conned Steve into giving him both his lunch and his coffee, they're practically best friends- except for the fact that they shared a weirdly platonic, extremely public kiss.)

"So, uh, where do you want the work to be, and do you have any idea of the dimensions?" Steve asks. Tony surveys the room and finally points to a stretch of wall between a framed picture of some seashells(??) and a scorch mark(?????). 

"So, around five metres long and four metres wide?" Steve asks. "That'll be a flat rate of $4500-$5000, depending on the medium, the complexity of the subject, and any other extras."

"The medium what?" He asks, because the only medium he knows is the temperature of his coffee.

"The medium, you know, like do you want, for example, ink, or paint, or pencil- that." Steve clarifies, looking baffled. His nose scrunches up a little and even Tony has to admit that it's adorable, even on a six foot, blond version of The Rock.

"Ah. I think I'd like a painting, not sure about the subject, and maybe you could recommend some extras?"

"A painting? If you wanted to make it thinner, we could do a view of the skyline, or something. If you wanted to make it taller, then we could do a picture of Stark Tower. Or, maybe, do you want a portrait of yourself, or your wife? Perhaps together? We could have a mock-wedding or celebration theme, maybe you two could be dancing..."

Steve is starting to look desperate, and perhaps a touch worried at Tony's lack of reaction. Which is justified, because Tony is having an severe indecision attack. _Pepper should handle this. She would know exactly what to do._ Panicking, Tony wonders what to do.

"Or I could do a nude portrait of your wife."

Apparently, the answer to _what to do_ is to spit out the mouthful of coffee he just drank all over Steve, while simultaneously flailing his arms and managing to spill the rest of the mug over Steve as well.

Steve stares at him for a second, before stripping off his shirt and grabbing a handful of tissues from a nearby table to wipe away the errant coffee that had soaked through the thin cotton.

Tony couldn't help it. He stared. And stared. And stared some more, because muscles like those only came out of mysterious injectable liquids, questionably flavoured protein shakes and more time than was necessary in a gym. 

"I'm so sorry." Tony manages to say, and Steve's face lights up with a grin that's almost bright enough to power his arc reactor. 

"I guess that makes us even. Uh, Mr. Stark, do you know any cheap clothes stores around here? I'm sorry, I don't shop here very often."

Tony gawks at him for a moment longer, thinking, then tells Steve "I think there might be a St. Laurent just around the corner- shirts are only four hundred and seventy five dollars."

"Uh, I think I'll be fine." Steve says, and Tony can clearly see the pink flush spreading across his cheeks. Steve checks his watch, which seems to have survived Tony's miniature tsunami, and gasps sharply. "It's 9.27, Mr. Stark, and I'm so sorry that I have to cut our appointment short but I need to see another customer. Perhaps we can organise another appointment later. Have a nice day!" 

He watches as Steve grabs his sopping shirt and sprints to the elevator, and Tony would be lying is he said that he wasn't watching Steve's ass as he went.

Then the elevator doors close and obscure his view of Steve's magnificent back ~~side~~ , and Tony flops on the couch with a despairing sigh. He doesn't even know Steve Rogers, yet the man is already turning Tony's world on its head.

Tony tries once again to convince himself that he is straight, but the images of Steve keep erasing Pepper's face. 

_Anthony Edward Stark is heterosexual and marrying Virginia 'Pepper' Potts._  
_Anthony Edward Stark is heterosexual and marrying Virginia 'Pepper' Potts._  
_Anthony Edward Stark is hetorosexual and marrying Virginia 'Pepper' Rotts._  
_Anthony Edward Stark is hotorosexual and marrying Stirginia Roggs._  
_Anthony Edward Stark is hotorsexual and marrying Stevinia Roggers._  
_Anthony Edward Stark is homosexual and marrying Steve Rogers._

Fuck, he's acting like a confused teenager. _Well then, better complete the charade._ He sighed and threw his arm over his face. "JARVIS, project the holoscreen onto the left wall. Google search ' _am I bisexual?_ '.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Later that night, Tony finds himself in front of the TV, eating a deep dish pizza and wondering if Steve is one of those people who eats nothing but organic, locally produced, small-batch hydroponically grown nutritiative kale on their pizza. He takes another bite of his non-nutritiative _Loaded Meatlovers_ and swigs his beer, before turning on the TV. For the second time in two days, he watches the accusing headlines and footage zoom by on the screen in bright technicolour.

A. Walking out of Stark Tower without a shirt led to rampant speculation that Steve was Tony's paramour/booty call, leading to a 'Twink March' by dozens of men in enough spandex to make the 90's green with envy, vying for Tony's attention.

B. Three minor car crashes or collisions occurred on the road in front of Stark Tower at approximately the same time that Steve did his Not-Walk of Shame.

C. Tony Stark is still going to marry Pepper Potts. No two ways about it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That night, Tony lies in bed and tries not to think about Steve. The burnt paint on the wall stares at him, and he has a sudden, hysterical moment where he thinks of telling Steve "You're like this scorch mark- smokin'!"

Then, morosely, he remembers that his life and reputation are like the scorch mark- smokin'.

"JARVIS, play something...nice." He says, boring a hole in the ceiling with his eyes.

Kylie Minogue's [_Can't Get You Out Of My Head_](https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=Rfr9bhSmfXc) came blasting from the speakers.


	2. I repeat; this is not a date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The second chapter has arrived! Thank you to everyone who left a comment, kudo, bookmark or simply read this story- knowing that someone is appreciating my work is better than crack and twice as addictive. (Write fic, don't do drugs. They're bad for you.)
> 
> If you don't know the song 'Dilemma', the lyric I'm referring to is _'No matter what I do, all I think about is you/ Even when I'm with my boo, boy you know I'm crazy over you'_.
> 
> Have some gifs of Steve Rogers chest: [Look at them. LOOK AT THEM.](http://stevetopsbuckysbottom.tumblr.com/post/125298085238)
> 
> If you don't know what the boob/moob crack is, see this article:  
> [ _The mysteries of the boob crack_](http://www.buzzfeed.com/chrissymahlmeister/ew-whats-in-my-boob-crack)

Steve Rogers was never a man who wanted fame. Recognition, sure, and maybe a little money on the side, but fame never appealed to him. 

Unfortunately, fate seems to take great delight in catapulting unsuspecting people into stardom and watching them flail around like a goldfish in semi-set Jell-O.

Fighting his way through the crowds of people milling around Times Square was not his idea of fun, but the subway line was closed for repairs and he was forced to walk home. Steve was forced to use his size to push through the unusually thick crowd, something that he hated doing. It made him feel like a drunken walrus trying to get through a mob of penguins- occasionally, someone got squished and all he could do was make awkward noises and hope they communicated his apology.

He managed to get a fair way into the throng before he hit a relatively open patch. He kept his eyes in front of him and almost tripped over a wild toddler, before something warm and hand-like grabbed his jaw and tugged. Steve went with his assailant's pull and was about to wind his fist up to let fly a punch when soft lips were suddenly on his, massaging his own gently. Then reality socked him in the gut and he yanked his head away from the stranger.

Only, it wasn't a stranger. Apparently, Steve had gone from the artist equivalent of Odysseus, to the lip-lock partner of one of the world's richest men, Tony Stark. 

He couldn't help his response. He turned and ran, recreating an urban edition of _300_ as he mowed down unsuspecting citizens in a frantic bid to escape.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Steve slammed the door shut behind him before racing to the table and grabbing his inhaler and taking a huge breath. Once he felt less likely to pass out from the fact that he had accidentally kissed a straight and promised man, he chanced a look out the front curtains of his apartment and saw that a crowd of reporters was already forming outside the brownstone building. He shut the drapes quickly and slid down onto the floor, not caring about the pain in his tailbone as his legs crumpled underneath him.

_Fuck_.

His life felt like one of those shitty zombie movies, but instead of zombies, there were reporters; instead of a virus, there were rumours; and instead of a rickety cabin with a secret cache of weapons, there was a modest apartment with enough caffeine stocked in the kitchen to send an elephant on a bender. And amidst this chaos, Steve Rogers had been cast as the Not-So-Ditzy Blonde in the leading role.

He was preparing dinner (Tomato pasta, [_Carbe Diem_](http://agirlnamedally.tumblr.com/post/124911586730/carbe-diem-seize-the-carbs)) and singing the background-noise-of-linguini-boiling remix of [_Uptown Funk_](https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=OPf0YbXqDm0).

He was halfway through his dinner when his phone rang, scaring the hell out of a large fly that was getting uncomfortably close to his green smoothie. He picked up the device and pressed the call button, noting the unknown number. _Probably a new client_. 

"Hello, this is Steve Rogers, what can I do for you today?" The fly looped around his head and zeroed in on his pasta, so he grabbed the nearest item (A book titled _How to Ignore Distractions_ ) and smacked the book down on top of the insect.

"This is Ms. Potts, calling on behalf of Stark Industries. I understand that you do commissions?" 

"Yes, M'am, I do. Do you want to book a consultation to discuss location, subject matter etcetera or do you want to finalise the details now, either by phone or in person?"

"I'd like to book a consultation in person, please. Do you have any times around nine A.M tomorrow?"

"I can make a short appointment from ten past nine to nine twenty-five, if that's agreeable to you. Just tell me the place and the client, if you aren't commissioning this piece yourself."

"Perfect. Go to the Consulting Parlour of Stark Tower, ask at reception for directions. The client is Tony Stark. Have a nice evening, Mr. Rogers."

Steve's phone dropped onto the table with a clatter as his brain went from work-mode to panic-mode in the space of a few seconds. _Why was the soon-to-be wife of Tony Stark commissioning him to do a work for the very man he kissed today?_ It didn't make sense.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nevertheless, he accepted the offer because he needed the money (not really a lie, but not really a truth either), and an impromptu performance of human bumper cars and the world's most awkward food donation later, here he was, shirtless in Tony Stark's bedroom and trying to wipe boiling hot coffee off himself with a handful of tissues while attempting to discreetly hide his moobs.

No, really.

If someone had told Steve that a side effect of getting the buff body of his childhood dreams would be man boobs that could could fill an A-cup, he might have thought twice about him gym regime. But no, he had gone straight for the finish line and ended up with tits that probably could qualify for their own ZIP code and could put a basketball to shame with the way they bounced when he ran (or walked).

Plus, the crack.

Countless pens, pencils, paintbrushes, food scraps and one one memorable occasion, his earbuds had fallen victim to the gaping chasm between his moobs, some items found at the end of the day, others buried with full military honours in the washing machine. Most, however, were declared M.I.A. 

He briefly toyed with the idea of putting his wet shirt back on, but quickly canned the idea as he looked at the now-beige fabric. _Maybe Tony knows a place around here that doesn't cost an arm and a leg_.

Apparently, four hundred and seventy five dollars was cheap to Tony Stark. Oh well, it wasn't his fault that he wasn't rolling in dough like a certain billionaire. He checked his watch and almost had a heart attack at the time- he couldn't afford to be late to his next appointment. Garbling a quick apology, he raced for the elevator and pressed the button for the ground floor.

At nine twenty-eight in the morning, Steve bolted out of Stark tower, looking like either a stripper that chickened out halfway through their performance, a nudist who couldn't deal with total nudity, or a man interrupted in a tryst with another man by said man's wife, depending on your perspective.

_When did this become his life?_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Now, he was sitting in a small diner, waiting for a billionaire to soil his Gucci with the almost tangible scent of grease and lemon polish that permeated the place. It wasn't Steve's fault that he couldn't afford somewhere fancy, he hadn't the money to buy his apartment and was instead forced to pay the sky-high rent, constantly haunted by a reclusive landlord whose only demand was a slightly vampiric/urban Dracula 'I vant to suck your cash (out of your bank account and into mine)'.

Yesterday had been a disaster, no two ways about it. After his unsuccessful shot at being a nude model sprinter, he jogged the half-hour walk to his house and apologised to Ms. Wizinski, his other client. Then, several hours later, his phone began to jiggle, the screen once again displaying the unknown number that belonged to one Ms. Potts.

With a distinct feeling of dread creeping through his chest, he picked up the phone and pressed the green button.

"Hello, this is Steve Rogers, what can I do for you today?"

"This is Ms. Potts. May I be able to organise another consultation for Mr. Stark, to discuss further details?"

"Of course. When and where?

"Tomorrow, if there is a time, and at your favourite restaurant, if you wish."

"I have a space at four o'clock, and, ah, at Sweet Mother's Kitchen?"

"That sounds wonderful. Enjoy your day."

The call ended with a click and Steve slumped back in his chair with a groan. _Why does this sound suspiciously like a date?_

He walked to his bedroom and opened his closet, looking at the riot of clothes in despair. Grabbing his iPod and putting on Lady Gaga's [_Bad Romance_](https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=qrO4YZeyl0I), he began the hunt for the rare chequered shirt, last spotted a year ago in the wild jungles of unwashed-laundry-from-that-summer-barbecue-thing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"What the hell did you do?"

"Besides being my usual charming self?"

"Dammit, Tony, you know what I mean."

"Okay, so he gave me a sandwich, but you make better ones, and he also gave me coffee, but your face is better at waking me up, and with a smile to boot."

"Tony, I have never made you a sandwich, as you _'refuse to lower your hands to the vile duty of bringing some slices of processed meat sludge and congealed cow juice between two pieces of mashed grain to your lips'_ , you do not wake up, you simply emerge from a coma induced by manual labor in your workshop, and you do not smile unless something large, expensive and preferably belonging to someone you dislike is being blown up in front of you and you are the cause."

Pepper placed her hands on her hips and glared at him, daring him to contradict her words. He eyed the wrench on the table next to her in his workshop and decided that he could keep his mouth shut. 

"Pepper, I love you. I really do. I'm really sorry about all the idiotic things I've done, I promise to try not to get in any major trouble over the next few days, blah blah." At Pepper's sceptical look, he added "I promise to be on time for my next three public appearances?"

Pepper rolled her eyes and Tony took the chance to lean forward and give her a long kiss. When he at last pulled back, her expression had softened into exasperation. "You have a meeting with Steve to discuss further details on the work you commissioned. Tomorrow at four o'clock, Sweet Mother's Kitchen. Don't be late."

With those words she turned around and left, heels clicking on the floor as she made her way back up the stairs. Tony furiously squashed the part of his brain that wanted to taste Steve on his lips, not Pepper, and sat down on a nearby bench to remind himself that _he was going to marry Pepper, goddammit._ The assorted screws and bolts littered on the surface dug into his ass, like the shitty cushion upon which his genius buttocks rested as he surveyed his kingdom of poor life choices, scotch, and unhelpful robots.

Unprompted, JARVIS began playing the chorus of Nelly's [_Dilemma_](https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=8WYHDfJDPDc).

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Walking into Sweet Mother's Kitchen, Tony was greeted by the pungent scent of grease, mingled with coffee and something citrusy. Stepping over a solitary fry floating in a suspicious puddle on the floor, he looked around and spotted Steve's short blond hair peeking out of the top of one of the booths.

Hurrying over, he slid into the booth, startling Steve so badly that the man jerked upward involuntarily, slamming his knee into the underside of the table with an audible 'crack'.

"I'm sorry?" He offered, hoping he sounded more 'concerned bystander' and less 'heartless asshole'.

"Ah, no problem." Steve said gingerly, rubbing his knee. "Would you like to order? They don't, ah, serve alcohol here."

"Sure." Tony wasn't sure of the last time he'd eaten (Last night? Or maybe the night before...) but judging solely from the smell, ingesting enough fat to make a cardiac surgeon have to perform emergency bypass surgery on himself was a good idea. "Sure. What do you recommend?'

"I usually have the 'Fat Momma'. It's a burger with two beef patties, three different cheeses, seasonal fresh vegetables, bacon and special sauce."

"Just order for me." He replied, waving at the waitress. After she had taken their orders, Steve stared at the table, a delicate blush spreading over his cheeks and down his neck.

"I'm sorry this isn't a fancy place. You're probably used to more, uh, _high-end_ restaurants."

"Don't worry. I've eaten enough shitty takeaway to make this place seem like heaven. Do you have anything about the art?"

At his words, Steve brightened up, his mouth forming into a small grin as he dug around in a bag beside him, emerging with several sheets of paper that he pushed across the table towards Tony. "They're just a couple of rough sketches, nothing concrete, but tell me if you really like anything."

He picked up the drawing and examined the first one, a pencil sketch of the skyline. _Eh, kinda boring_. He flicked through the rest, seeing pictures of the Iron Man suit, what looked like Pepper and him doing a waltz in formalwear, and even a rocket being launched into the sky. He was just about to give the sketches back to Steve when he noticed a final picture, smaller than the others and drawn on lined notepaper, unlike the plain white paper used for the rest.

The picture was of the Iron Man suit reclining on a crudely drawn chaise lounge, legs stretched out, one arm propped on the armrest, the other placed behind the suit's head. A speech bubble near the faceplate read " _Draw me like one of your French girls_ ". Tony could feel his eyebrows making a break for the roof as he stared the the picture.

"What is this?" He demanded, adding a slightly mocking tone to his voice so that Steve would hopefully interpret that he wasn't really serious. Steve's blush returned with a vengeance, the ketchup bottle paling in comparison to his face.

"I...uh....um...it was for fun?"

"Is this a serious suggestion?"

"No!" Steve squeaked, hunching down in his seat and staring at the salt and pepper shakers like they held the secret of life itself. "Also, I'm sorry for suggesting that I do a portrait of your spouse. I know some people are uncomfortable with that. But you don't need to worry about that. I, um, don't swing that way?"

"What?"

"I'm, ah, gay."

_Oh._ A flurry of questions invaded his mind at the revelation. _Did Steve enjoy their accidental kiss? Was he pretending to be straight to avoid a media shitstorm around Tony? Could you become gay from exposure to gay people?_ He was so wrapped in his thoughts that he only caught the end of Steve's sentence.

"...fire me."

"What?"

Tony Stark, master of eloquence and the man who's smooth talk is smoother than extra smooth peanut butter, had reduced his vocabulary around tall, blond men named Steve to a single, startled word, apparently.

"I was, uh, saying that, you, uh, mightnotwanttoworkwithmebecauseI'mgay." Steve's words came out small and rushed as he tucked his chin into his chest, refusing to look at Tony.

"What, no! I don't want to fire you, you're a good artist..." Tony trailed off. Pepper would be better at this 'comforting' thing. The only advice he could offer was 'drink an entire bottle of whiskey each night to drown your troubles'.

Steve opened his mouth as if to say something, but quickly closed it as the waitress came over and deposited two plates on the table, as well as two drinks in tall glasses, chocolate milkshakes if he wasn't mistaken.

Steve shoved one plate over to Tony, before seizing the burger on his own plate and shoving it in his mouth like he hadn't eaten for a month. Tony shuddered, before grabbing a napkin and picking up his own burger, and examine it for unwanted ingredients. Having past quarantine, he took a small bite, then another, bigger one. Whatever was in these burgers tasted good. (But not salad. Salad, at best, was tolerable.)

He noticed Steve giving him a quizzical look, so he lifted an eyebrow. Steve took one hand off his food to gesture at Tony's own hands. It took a moment to interpret the unspoken question.

"Germs."

At Steve's 'I'm-still-puzzled' face, he sighed and resigned himself to explaining his odd habit. "Don't touch food with your hands unless you've washed them, it's unsanitary. Even then, use a tissue or napkin. Only use fingers for finger food, and don't touch the finger food because other people's fingers have probably touched your food. The only time I will use fingers is when I am eating snack foods that only I eat. But still, gross."

Steve swallowed, then gave Tony a truly devastating pout. "I'm sorry I'm a filthy pig."

A new competitor had emerged to rival Tony Stark's Drily Sarcastic VoiceTM, but Tony was a master. He would not let Steve beat him. "I'm sorry I'm an actually quite clean pig, but did you know that one day my germophobe habits will save my bacon."

Steve let out a small chuckle at that, and they spent the next hour talking and laughing, sharing stories like two old friends reunited rather than not-quite-strangers on something that was starting to resemble a date. He learned that Steve used to be small and sickly, but puberty and time had taken care of most things except his asthma. He told Steve about the time when he was five and didn't want his nanny to bother him, so he secretly glued magnets to her shoes and glued their opposites to the underside of the doormat, and watched, laughing so hard he almost cried, as she tried to get out of the house.

Then Tony's phone erupted in a shrilling call like some enraged Amazonian jungle bird, and he looked at the screen to see half a dozen reminders (all from Pepper) that he was 'supposed to get his ass into that board meeting half an hour ago, and if he was late again then he wouldn't be be to bail his ass out of that mess, not with all the buckets in the world'.

His brain immediately registered Pepper's veiled threat and he got up on autopilot, throwing a hasty apology Steve's way as he hurried out of the diner. 

Somewhere, he swore he could hear Fate cackling manically and eating popcorn as it laughed at Tony's disaster of a life.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lying on his bed, still fully clothed, Steve picked up his phone and dialled a number that he had called many times before, usually after seeing a couple walking together and knowing that his life would never be as perfect as that. The phone picked up and Steve wasted no time before pouring out his troubles.

"Natash-aaaaa," he whined. "I went on this not-date with Tony and we talked for hours and then he had to go and I miss him because he's funny and charming and you could grate cheese on his jawline and I want to kiss him again why is my life like this?!"

There was silence on the other end for a moment, then he heard Nat humming Beyoncé's [_Crazy In Love_](https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=8SCaWesth9U).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thank you to everyone who left a comment, kudo, bookmark or simply read this story.
> 
> Just in case you missed them/want to see them again, here are the gifs of Steve's chest: [Moob inspiration](http://stevetopsbuckysbottom.tumblr.com/post/125298085238)
> 
> Remember, I love feedback/appreciation, so make it rain!
> 
> > What's the strangest thing you've found in your boob/moob crack? (Nothing is TMI, just so you know)
> 
> > Are you like me/Tony and refuse to touch food with your bare hands?
> 
> > Any suggestions/criticisms? Leave a comment below!

**Author's Note:**

> I love comments and kudos, so make it rain! If you have any suggestions, please leave a comment and I will see if it fits into my plot line.
> 
> As I mentioned at the start, please note that this will be a fluffy romance, not an explicit one, so please don't leave comments asking for porn.
> 
> Next chapter will hopefully be from Steve's POV.
> 
> Thank you!


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